| | "Boy, how could you lie to me? Thought you would die for me. I'm not accepting another apology. After three years I'ma let it go - can't stand around cryin' no more. Got your bags packed, sittin' by the door. I'ma leave you heartbroken on the floor. You gonna be in the emergency room. I'm standing by your bed, I'm so tempted to pull out your IV... You gonna be in the emergency room. I'm fighting with myself - I can't hurt you even though you hurt me. You gonna be in the emergency room, tryina call a nurse but nobody can help you now. Let me see you try to live without me, now would your heart be flatline on the EKG?"
Something needs to happen and it needs to happen soon. This limbo that I'm living in isn't cutting it. It feels like I'm floating somewhere in subspace, not really living, just existing.
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I don't have much to remember you by. Some clothes, the last ring you gave me, an entry in my senior yearbook and now this card. There's not much in this room, in this house, that should remind me of you. None of it actually being your's. I go everyday in this town and I never see you, never have a chance encounter. I never "accidentally" see you with her, although these days I'm not sure which "her" I'm referring to anymore. None of my friends ever intentionally bring you up - and to be quite honest, I have absolutely no excuse as to the amount of thoughts I have that include you.
It drives me mad, you see, how the smallest thing can remind me of you. I don't look for it but my head automatically makes the connection. Random things. Like reading a fanfic will make me think if that's what you'd do for your leading lady. Or how reparking my car late at night reminds me of how you used to try and find hideout spots for quickies. I disgust myself with remembering these things but I really can't help it. Sometimes I'll be so caught up in the present and the thought, I kid you not, will cross my mind, "Hey I haven't thought about him in a couple of hours..." What the hell is that? What the hell is that?
Part of me wants to delete the subscribers on this xanga who know me in real life. Sometimes I feel the need to censor myself or to write about something that doesn't concern "you". But does it matter? It's been nearly half a year. I no longer count the days nor the weeks but only the months. It's nice knowing I've gotten so far, yet it pains me to know I still have much further to go.
Today as I drove, because you didn't answer me (nor did I expect you to), I felt as if a weight was being lifted off of my chest. Brick by glorious brick was being disposed of as I drove another mile further from this place. For each mile was another weight and each weight increased the wattage of my smile. It soon got to a point where I was by Calistoga, and I knew I'd need to turn back. I was running low on gas as it was and I only had a gas card for a specific gas station.
As soon as I turned around, I felt the bricks being stacked right back up. My smile began to fade and I knew I was heading back to desperation. I found myself home soon afterwards and I wanted nothing more than to hide out back on the beautiful road I had discovered. Where the twilight met the horizon and there was nothing but me, music, and the cool breeze in my hair.
I tire easily of my thoughts and I don't care much about revenge, or being a woman scorned, or retaliating. What's the point? If anything, I wish I were miles away, so there'd be no reminder of you except for the memories sealed in my heart. Where I could look off into the distance and not automatically connect it with a memory of you.
My bed provides no comfort, my dreams no escape. The company of friends aggravate me more than they comfort and stories only provide unspoken motives that might have been. Constantly reminded of your absence or even of your presence in the way they hesitate to mention your name. I feel sick to my stomach every time I mention you, myself, and I really just want a place that isn't tainted with you. Seriously.
It gets easier. Nothing more than a dull ache when I imagine you with any of your lady friends. Nothing more than a most healed bruise when I think of all the hurtful things you've said. Nothing but a nostalgic sense of hope when I think about all the wonderful things you've done. Even in the ER when I wanted you by my side more than usual these past few months, I didn't give in.
I couldn't be with you even if it would work. We're too different, too much has happened, and there's too much I couldn't let go. But what is it with this fascination of you? If I'm so set in what I say, then why can't I just... Stop? Stop thinking of what could have been. Stop thinking of what you're doing right now, if you care about what I'm doing, or something of the sort. If I can clearly see that we'd get nowhere fast even if we were on a speaking basis, then why can't I stop?
It frustrates me to no end. Really, it does. In fact, I want to erase this entire blog because it's about you. God, everything is about you, isn't it? I can't even muster up the feelings of self-pity. Who cares?
I just want to be past this. And if this progress says anything, it says that I'm healed but the scars are still there. If anything.
I guess I'll put this on private, because I can't bear the thought that people know I'm still thinking about you. It'll be my secret and mine alone. I'll guard it with my life, because even putting up the pretense that I'm over you is better than letting everyone know you're still at the forefront of my thoughts.
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I took this off private with the thought that this is still my problem, I'm still dealing with it, and nobody who knows me in real life reads it anyway. So, I figured, for all intents and purposes I'm still safe. |
| | Posted 7/8/2009 3:51 AM - 1 View - 0 eProps - 0 comments
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